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Archive for November, 2006

Over and over

All I keep hearing in my head is, “Your family doesn’t want to see you!”

Grateful

Thanksgiving was not ideal. Toward the end of yesterday’s work day, I was received the annual interrogation as to what I was planning for the special holiday. As per usual, nothing. I have no family near by and Phil has to work Thanksgiving day. So, the only real “plans” I had were to sleep in and relax. Neither of those activities merit sympathy or pity invites to dinner.

Those two things were knocked off of my “to do” list with ease. Though my sleep consisted mainly of tossing, turning, and nightmares, I remained in my bed ’til sometime after 10am. After a shower and some cereal, he headed out for his shift. The following handful of hours were spent playing Mah-Jongg, turning the speaker volume control to the right, and dancing in my lounge clothes. Despite having some intentions of dicking around in the garage or basement, I stayed confined to the “lazier” happenings in the house.

2:30pm rolled around, the Weather Channel showed the current temperatures in the 60s, and I decided my time would best be spent with Philbert. I hopped on the bike, laid down on the tank for 50-ish miles until I hit Gardner, Kansas, where he works. I traded the bike up for the Focus, so that we could both head over to Walmart for the finest of Thanksgiving Day pickings. We stuck to their deli area, where they kept the fried chicken. That, of course, was his choice for dinner. I spotted some meatball & mozzarella Hot Pocket Subs. Together, we picked out some potato wedges, crackers and fancy cheese dip. I insisted on picking up some fine cherry cheesecake to chase our highly nutritious dinner down with.

The rest of daylight was spent in his cubical, watching Valentino Rossi toast his biker brethren in Qatar, Dave Chappelle snippits, and working on one of his websites. After being stressed and upset for the past two weeks, the closeness and calm was just what the Doctor had ordered.

My ride home was cool and the wind pounded me harder than usual. But I hankered down, tucked in, and stuck it out. Every once and a while I see a glimpse of success - my effort, hard work, and dedication allowing strong roots to take hold, a trunk to grow, and leaves to open. The best I can do is hope that that is really the case.

Do do doop dum do do doop do doop da dum

WinAmp is pumping out some good ol’ Marah Carey - Always Be My Baby. And whenever I hear it, I can’t help but to remember my dear Vox account, sitting there lonely and neglected.

And we’ll linger on…

As of recently, I’ve been dead sick. Each morning I get up and slug my way into the shower, where I then spend the next ten minutes blowing my nose and hacking all things green out of my sinus cavities and lungs. You’d think that with my fantastic medical insurance, I would see my way right to any of my local in-network providers for a look-see and a strong dose of amoxicillin. But, no dice. I’m saving that co-pay for a serious run-in. Motorcycle crash. Face-first dive into a frozen curb. Extreme hydration caused by the constant surrounding of heaters and furnances.

Instead, I’ve been nursing myself with as much NyQuil and ‘tussen ten dollars can buy, along with a restless snotty sleep.

When your days and your nights get a little bit colder…

My beau has also gotten sick, no thanks to me. Sleeping next to one another has let germs flow freely across our constantly-washed bedsheets and pillow cases. I blame myself for being weak. In my girliness, I’ve wanted to curl up next to him. His arm crossing my back, hand on my hip, head on his chest, legs bent and wrapped up in his. Sick or not, it’s the best place to be.

Unfortunately for him, it was only one night’s time before he, too, was sick. Coughing and snotting every which way. Sheepishly, I shared my stash of cold medicine with him in hopes of him having a quick recovery. After all, with both of us sick, the odds of having sex go down drastically. And we can’t have that.

Oh baby believe me, it’s only a matter of time…

This past week and half we have both battled the sinus and chest virus as best we can. Halls cough drops, orange juice, backs pressed against each other while we sleep as soundly as possible. We’ve even managed to keep the kid from getting sick, play some basketball with the old men of Lyndon, Kansas, and enjoy lunch together not once, but twice this work week.

You and I will always be…

Let it Snow

Last year on November 15th, Topeka had it’s first snow of the year. Appropriately so, they are forcasting rain/snow mix tomorrow, November 15th after the heavens dump a quarter of an inch of water on us tonight. I don’t anticipate conditions being cold enough for a thorough freezing of tonight’s rain.

But I’m thankful we had our tree trimmed anyway.

 

  

Thanks for the update

For several years I’ve had a subscription to CNN’s Breaking News email system. Usually I get 1-3 emails per day keeping me up-to-date with the major going-ons of the world. Suicide bombings, North Korean madness, the sentancing of former Enron CEO Jeffrey Skilling, etc.

This evening, I came home, twiddled my thumbs as Outlook downloaded and sifted through all of my junk email, and checked out the one CNN Breaking News email I received.

Britney Spears files for divorce from her husband Kevin Federline, citing irreconcilable differences.

CNN, you’ve failed me. It’s November 7th, and you can’t email me anything regarding the elections I’ve voted in today? No memos on the War in Iraq? I would have even settled on a highlight of which popular athlete has been caught doing drugs and patronizing prostitutes. And you give me this? Poppycock.

Halloween 2006

For all intents and purposes Ashley will be referred to as my sister-in-law, and Chrissy will be referred to as my cousin-in-law. Though, their true relationships to me are Phil’s brother’s soon-to-be-ex-wife and Phil’s first cousin’s wife, respectively.

Last Saturday, the three of us painted the town rainbow colors with some costume action. For years, I’ve wanted to dress up. Halloween of 2005 was half assed, when I dressed up as a gym teacher with some knee-high socks, gym shorts, a crop-top football shirt, a headband and a whistle dangling around my neck. Within an hour or two, I was in jeans and a more club-inspired top.

This year, the three of us planned in advance that we would hit the streets the Saturday before Halloween. Originally Phil and his cousin Laramie were supposed to join us. Laramie was stuck with the kids after a babysitter ducked out. And Phil bailed because “he didn’t have any money” (turns out that excuse didn’t prevent him from heading out after I left the house).

I’m not much for dressing up, doing hair and make up, etc. But I have to admit: I had a blast sitting in Ashley’s bathroom, having her curling my hair and doing my fancypants fake (rainbow) eyelashes. I’m even toying with the idea of buying myself some heated curlers to style up my ‘do every once and a while.

About two months ago I scoured the internet in hopes of coming up with a creative costume. Much to my dismay, everything was pretty much the same ol’, same ol’. I narrowed it down to two costumes and then started probing Ashley for her opinion. Her response was something along the lines of, “OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE TO PICK THAT ONE.” And she then described her co-worker nearly peeing her pants when seeing the costume.
And so it was, Rainbow Brite:

I was the tallest, thinnest, and sluttiest Rainbow Brite in town. While we didn’t win either of the costume contests at Bullfrog’s Live or the Electric Cowboy, we received a monumental amount of attention. Both Chrissy and Ashley have been bestowed with huge boobs, that kept most of the men staring downward, rather than at their faces. Ashley was snotty and sassy on the dance floor, only dancing with one 130-year-old man who she couldn’t seem to turn down. The snottiness seemed to garner her more attention (similar to that of women loving the “asshole” guy).

As it turns out, my costume barely covered my ass - while standing. I made the executive decision to wear a pair of boy shorts underneath it, for modesty’s sake, of course. But my plan was bunk. While were at Bullfrog’s Live (standing room only), it seemed to be open season for grab-ass because everyone was sure getting handful of the three of us (despite Snotty Dorothy’s Stink Eye From Hell). And while we were nice and tipsy at the Cowboy, it was dancing time. All three of us were rather liberal on the dance floor and I’m fairly sure everyone now knows that the back of my boy shorts said, “Thrill Ride”.

And I believe that both Ashley and I played “motorboat” on Chrissy exploding cleavage.

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